


I can't stop holding on, I need you with me

by dragon_rider



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_rider/pseuds/dragon_rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does it really matter though? Jim is going back to second best, no matter who she is, and there’s nothing he can do about it except wishing –trying to, most likely, because he’s still rash and selfish and still thinks he could treat Bones better than anyone even if that is a blatant lie, almost a delusion—this time things work out and Bones can be happy, because he deserves it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I can't stop holding on, I need you with me

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/579186).
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and I'm so sorry for my English fails. I do what I can.

Jim eases his way into Bones’ quarters, feeling immediately comforted even in the emptiness of the place. Bones is still wrapped up in surgery, yet the air smells faintly like he always does if you pay enough attention—and Jim does, he always does—and the smell is not bourbon or antiseptic, it isn’t peaches or  cologne, it’s warm and soft and familiar and _right_ and _home_ in ways Jim prefers not to ponder on.

He wishes they could hang out here more often. It’s always his own big, rough quarters, the same space that got blown to pieces earlier today at their last Klingon confrontation and Jim misses nothing of it. The crew is still a bit shaken by the fact that if Jim hadn’t been wandering around the ship in the middle of Gamma shift because he’s restless and has the sleeping habits of a bat, then he’d be very much dead. They thought he was for a bit actually, but Jim was quick to announce he was fine and to order everyone to their battle stations while quietly thanking whatever God or gods out there that the blast didn’t make it to his First Officer’s room despite the fact it’s right next to his own. He learned later on that Spock wasn’t in it either and would’ve been okay even in that case, but Spock’s quarters are different from his. They hold a sense of belonging, they guard the few mementos Spock was able to keep after Vulcan’s implosion and those irreplaceable things would’ve been missed by him dearly, even if Spock never said it out loud. Jim thinks the blow was a merciful one, although he’s anything but merciful when facing the Klingons that started it.

He takes a sonic shower instead of the luxury of the two minutes of hot water he allows himself everyday more for soothing purposes than hygienic ones and it’s the first time he actually misses something of his quarters. He pads back to Bones’ room, a small smile settling on his lips as he takes a look around again and thinks, selfishly and unrepentantly, that he’s going to enjoy being here even if it’s just for a couple of days. He’s cheating like the best because there’s room in the lower decks for him, there are unused quarters and he could— _should_ , rather—go straight to one and be done with it, but Bones offered and Jim isn’t going to deprive himself from this, even if he knows he’s just stealing something that isn’t his, that is not meant to be his and it’ll never be his no matter what he does.

Bones sounded breathless with relief over the comm. once the turmoil was over. “ _Wait for me in my quarters, Jim. I’ll be there as soon as I can._ ”

The bridge crew didn’t even bat an eyelid, used as they were all to Bones and Jim being—well, _them_ , so Jim grinned and assured his friend he’d be there once he was done with the encounter’s report.

And here he is, trying and failing not to feel giddy about the fact he’s going to share a room with Bones again, something they haven’t done since the Academy and he feels bold enough to lie down on Bones’ bed, remembering perfectly how the doctor favors the right side and occupying the left one, ignoring the nagging voice in his head that’s insisting he should sleep on the couch and stop being a goddamned parasite.

He buries his face in the pillow and retrieves a PADD from underneath it after feeling the hardness of it against his nose. It’s Bones’ personal one and it’s locked, but it takes Jim seven seconds flat to hack into it, a sense of dread curling in the pit of his stomach and making his chest heavy with anxiety. His mind is dead silent as he skims over Bones’ files and he doesn’t know what he’s looking for, doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it certainly isn’t to find Bones’ calendar making a countdown to Valentine’s Day which is barely ten days from now.

He forgets how to breathe for a minute, gasps to attempt and infuse some air into lungs that are having a hard time expanding against the constriction of his ribcage and leaves the PADD right where he found it after blindly erasing his traces in it. His fingers feel like he’d just burned them and he has to stand up, stumble all the way to the tiny sofa in Bones’ quarters, and try to muffle the scream that wants out of his throat.

He rubs his mouth with a hand, biting his bottom lip until it goes numb but knowing better than to cut it with his teeth if he wants to stay under Bones’ radar, and feels—remembers he is—stupid and hopeless, bereft and insensible, because of fucking course Bones was going to start dating again, what was he expecting? He knew this was coming and yet it hurts as if he didn’t, as if he wasn’t ready for the punch in the slightest.

He wonders if it’s Barrows again or that cute nurse they picked up from the last base they visited. Sure, Bones is always saying he won’t ever get involved with his staff, but he spent three years saying he wasn’t going to date ever again so Jim has to consider her, too, and maybe Chapel—yes, definitely Chapel—who seems the only one unruffled by Bones’ particular bedside manner and is the swiftest in following the C.M.O’s lead no matter how harsh the situation is.

Does it really matter though? Jim is going back to second best, no matter who she is, and there’s nothing he can do about it except wishing –trying to, most likely, because he’s still rash and selfish and still thinks he could treat Bones better than anyone even if that is a blatant lie, almost a delusion—this time things work out and Bones can be happy, because he deserves it, deserves to have someone with the power of making him smile just by existing, with the skill of diminishing all the world’s problems with a few whispers and promises and touches and deserves someone to hold knowing there’s no one else more important than Bones for her.

And, well, if Bones is her—whoever she ends up being, or if she’s someone that will come later, much later—number one, then he’s Jim’s number zero which is inconsequential because Jim is not—will never be, _don’t you dare forget_ —what Bones needs, even when Bones _is_ everything he needs and more.

None of this is new and Jim eventually calms down, the pain in his chest receding to a dull ache he can cope with. It’s not like he has a choice in the matter anyway. Being Bones’ best friend has been something bittersweet for months now and even if the last couple of months have been sweeter than bitter, it doesn’t mean Jim won’t come back to hate himself to the point of almost smothering himself in it whenever Bones holds hands or kisses a woman.

By the time Bones comes into the room, Jim is practically dozing on the couch, probably were for a while until he jumps at the slide of the door and stands up just in time for Bones to pull him into a full body hug.

For a minute, Jim frowns in confusion even as he returns the embrace with, admittedly, not as much vehemence as Bones is putting into it. “Bones?” he asks, quiet, because as confused as he is, he doesn’t want Bones to let go. Not so soon, not yet.  
“God, Jim,” Bones murmurs against his temple. He sounds odd, almost wild with something Jim can’t be bothered to figure out right now between his arms, “You could’ve died today.”  
“Oh, c’mon, Bones,” he says, insufferable, because it’s the only thing that can cover how much Bones’ worry is really affecting him, “I could die almost every day, aren’t you the one who is constantly repeating me that? For once, it wasn’t going to be my fault, so that’s something good, right? You can’t berate me about it now.”  
Bones pauses for a bit and Jim waits for the perfect moment he just ruined to be over, but it doesn’t. Bones simply pulls back enough to look at him in the eye, his scowl deep and unforgiving, but the harshness of it not quite reaching his eyes. “What I meant,” Bones amends, slowly, like he’s testing every word before using it, “is that I’m glad you weren’t there, Jim. I don’t want to think what could’ve happened if you were.”

Jim can only blink at him, contentment bubbling inside of him and wanting to come out to kiss Bones right on the lips at knowing, at _seeing_ how thankful Bones is that Jim is still around to bug him.

When Bones finally lets him go, Jim sags back to the couch, giving Bones his back as he takes off his uniform. It’s more privacy that Jim has ever given him and totally weird, almost designed to call his friend’s attention and yet Jim can’t bring himself to turn around and act normal, not when he’s smiling for all the wrong reasons and there’s a solid chance he's blushing, too.

Jim is wearing black, his standard outfit for when he’s not supposed to be where he is but he’s there anyway, the only clean clothes he could get before retreating from duty until the next Alpha shift, and he’s suddenly proud of himself for deciding to put everything on instead of lounging half-naked in bed for Bones to come back because the hug was long and sincere and it left every nerve-ending on his body firing in overload so the fewer skin contact he gets with Bones during the night, the better.

He hears Bones going to the bathroom and uses the time to take a deep breath. The urge to kiss him is still so strong he’s trembling with it and Bones is going to notice if Jim doesn’t snap out of it soon.

Hell, he’s an idiot—why is he making such a big deal of a hug, of all things? They’ve hugged before, several times, sometimes with purpose, sometimes just because they wanted to, so what’s different now?

 _Nothing_ , Jim shakes his head, assures to himself that it might seem different, but that’s only his stupid, treacherous heart playing tricks on him. _I’m making it different because I want it to be different, but it’s not._

“Did you eat something?” Bones asks from the bed once he’s back.  
Jim turns to look at him, shakes his head again, “Not hungry,” he mumbles, “Might as well wait until breakfast.”  
“Sounds good to me,” Bones yawns, getting under the covers in the white t-shirt and grey sweatpants he’s always used for bed, “Come on, let’s see if we can get some sleep before that.”

Jim is more than overdressed for sharing a bed with a friend, but Bones makes no mention of it. He waits for Jim to be next to him before searching for a comfortable position and apparently finds it with his head almost touching the back of Jim’s neck, his breath caressing Jim’s skin, and a hand loosely gripping his left hip.

Jim falls asleep to a chorus of _it’s not_ and Bones’ low snores, the sort he gets when he’s exhausted after a long day of having his hands up to the elbows in people he needs saving.

He’s the first to wake up in the morning and it’s only 0500 but he has places to be, departments to check and repairs to help with or so he tells himself as he gets up twisting in a series of complicated motions to not wake Bones up too.

It takes him five days to find out who exactly Bones is looking forward to inviting for Valentine’s Day and by then, sure, Jim has psyched himself up for it but it still feels like someone put a hand in the middle of his lungs and proceeded to gut him, thoroughly and surely, before just shoving everything back in with their elbow.

He swallows the half-formed ‘Bones’ he was about to say along with a bit of bile and leaves Bones in his office, hoping—fucking forcing himself to hope, because that’s what a good friend does—he didn’t spoil the moment between Barrows and him as the Ensign gently cupped Bones’ face with both hands and they both smiled so unbelievably earnest and there was this glint in Bones’ eyes he’s not ready to acknowledge, not yet.

It seemed so definite, so intense and it’s killing him, it’s fucking killing him to know he is not, he _can’t_ be, the recipient of that devoted gaze.

He arrives to Bones’ quarters in a daze and packs his spare uniform and makeshift pajamas in a Starfleet regulation suitcase. It’s the first time it dawns on him the little he owns and he, foolishly, suddenly misses the black leather jacket he was wearing when he first met Bones but he has to laugh at his own bad timing to be miserable about yet another thing and so he just closes the case and is about to leave the room when the door opens and Bones is right there, looking like he just ran a marathon and wow, Jim doesn’t want to think exactly why he’s looking that way.

“Jim, were you—“ he stops, noticing the bag in Jim’s hand and starts over, his eyebrows not quite deciding if they want to jump to his forehead or  glower and he seems desperate, for some reason, but Jim can’t stand to look at him long enough to recognize the emotions showing on his face, “Where are you going? You don’t have quarters yet.”  
Jim shrugs, wills his voice to work and give some sort of mature, suitable explanation for his behavior. It takes him almost a full minute to gather the words and the strength and he refuses to look up , choosing to focus on the slight weight of the suitcase in his hand. “I’m just—getting out of your hair, Bones. I thought you might appreciate the space and, huh, maybe you wanted an early Valentine celebration with Barrows? It’s cool, really. She won’t even notice I was here.”

Jim tries to push past him and it’s all he can do not to break right there. After all the time he’s been bottling this up, it’d be fucking pathetic to do so in front of Bones, but there’s only so much he can do and saying that took more than he’s able to give at the moment.

“Give me that,” it’s what Bones says, grabbing not only the case but Jim’s hand and leading him back to the room. Jim is too confused to argue and even the slight tremor in Bones’ voice takes several seconds to register in his head. It’s only then he looks up and jerks back so violently he ends up colliding with the nearest bulkhead.  
“What the hell, Bones?” he shouts, shocked and angry because Bones was too fucking close and there is only one explanation for it and he’s not, _not_ okay with it. He’s not okay with his best friend finally figuring out what Jim actually feels for him and deciding to—what? _Indulge_ him before going back to being official with his perfect little girlfriend?

Bones pinches the bridge of his nose before trying to come near him again. Jim bristles, fists his hands against his sides and wonders, distantly like it’s not even happening, if he’s going to end up hitting Bones to get out of this shitty, fucked-up situation he's created.

It isn’t like it’d be the first time, although it _would_ be the first time with Bones, but he doesn’t want to think about first times of any kind right now.

He just wants _out_ and he’s having it, one way or another.

Sagely, Bones quickly decides he’s better where he is and makes an aborted gesture to put a hand on his shoulder before speaking more firmly. “Listen, Jim, whatever you saw in my office it was just—“  
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Bones,” Jim cuts him briskly and fuck it, he’s getting hypocritical, but he can’t stop now. If anything, he’s going to keep his dignity, however little is left of it. “Congratulations on getting her back, by the way. Now let’s forget this ever happened, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”  
“Goddamn it, Jim, no!” Bones is back in the non-existent personal space they’ve always shared all of a sudden and it looks like Jim’s going to have to punch his way out of here after all, “You’re not going anywhere. You can hit me if you want, I’m not letting you go. This has gone way too far and this is the last chance we get to fix it.”

Jim has to laugh at that. There’s nothing joyful in the sound, just the same bitterness that’s been keeping him company ever since he got enough insight to realize he’s in love with his best friend and that he’s the walking definition of _unrequited_ and _not enough_.

He’s doomed already, he knows it then, and abandons the struggle he was going to engage in because of the pride he doesn’t have anymore.

“To fix _what_ exactly? My broken heart or how guilty you’re feeling about it right now?” he laughs again because yes, it does sound more ridiculous and pathetic out loud, “I can’t _fix_ what I feel about you, Bones. I can’t change it. I wish I could, trust me, but I can’t. I—just—let’s just pretend this never—“  
“Jim,” it’s barely a whisper, but Bones sounds so weary, so inexplicably drained it shuts Jim up better than a shouting match and he stifles half the flinch he makes when Bones puts a hand on his cheek, his fingers curling tight around his jaw as if he’s making sure he won’t bolt, “I don’t want you to change it, I just want to make things right between us, if that’s still possible,” he sighs, like he’s practically convinced it’s impossible, but the fact Jim hasn’t broken his nose yet seems to encourage him and he grips the crook of Jim’s neck with his free hand, leaning another inch towards him, “I’m so sorry, Jim. I didn’t get back with Tonia, she was trying to convince me to tell you already, to stop making myself—and you, _us_ —wait for a right time that is never going to come,” Jim just stares at him, wide-eyed and gaping, not sure if he understands what Bones is saying because it’s exactly what he wants to hear, exactly what he wants to have, exactly what he _wants_ and that can’t be happening, “Love, Jim,” Bones spells out for him, his right thumb drawing soothing patterns on his cheekbone but not making it easier for him to understand just what the fuck is going on, because it can’t be _this_ , “I’m talking about love. I love you.”  
“No,” Jim wants to shake his head, incredulous, but Bones’ grasp is unyielding and his hands are slack against his sides and he can’t bring himself to knock him now, not when Bones is trying so hard to give Jim what he wants, “No, you don’t. You _don’t_ ,” he claims, doesn’t quite acknowledge how Bones winces when he stresses out the negative, “You think that I need this and, alright, I’m not going to lie to your face and say that I don’t but it’s not, _it’s_ _not_ of your business, Bones. You can’t fix everything that is wrong about me, you know. You shouldn’t try to, either. Let it go, Bones. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine, too, just as we’ve always been.”

If his voice weren’t coming out so strained and cold, Jim would be fucking proud of himself for his composure. As it is, though, he’s not because it sounds like—it _is_ —a lie and Bones still hasn’t given up because he’s not buying it.

It looks like everything Jim is getting with his stupidly noble speech is making Bones’ breathing sound more ragged by the second and his fingers to close even tighter on him as if to stop the minute quiver going through them.

“You have every right to doubt me,” Bones says, solemn, “Words can be just words, I know that. God, Jim, you’ve never said it and yet I know it. I’ve known for a while,” the shame has Jim’s fists abruptly back to life and for a short instant, Jim can see nothing but the door and the one thing standing between him and the only escape from this, but Bones reads his actions as fast as Jim moves and pins him to the wall, his hands firm around his forearms, “I promise you I can fix it, I’ll do my damnedest, but you have to _let_ me, Jim. Let me fix this.”  
“So back in your office, when you were with her, you were—“ Jim blinks, licks his lips and forces the question out of his throat, “You were thinking about me?  You were looking at her but you—“  
“ _Yes_ ,” Bones answers, a note of hope plain in his tone even though Jim is still taut under his touch, “It was you, Jim. I was thinking about _you_.”

It’s like pulling a plug. Jim sees everything again in his head, sees the adoring look Bones was _not_ directing at Barrows because it wasn’t, _it’s not_ meant for her and goes slack against Bones. He stops fighting, shushes the part of his mind that’s still reluctant and buries his face in the crook of Bones’ neck, trying to convince himself that yes, this can be his place if he wants, this can be _his_.

Assuming, of course, that it’s true. Assuming Bones will want to stick with him, no matter how frustrating and so not what he was expecting ends up being whatever it is they’re going to build between them.

Bones holds him there as he breathes deep, one hand lacing in Jim’s hair and the other around his waist, as if keeping him from falling and Jim smiles a little against his neck, letting his fists clutch the blue fabric on Bones’ back.

He wants to be brave. He wants to be brave enough to believe it’s true, to let Bones fix it, fix _them_ , until they both can be happy and maybe, just maybe, make up for all the time they weren’t strong enough to speak up and defend this; what they have now and what they’re going to have if they try hard enough.

Their breathing is attuned when Jim straightens up enough for Bones to give him the softest of kisses and Jim chuckles when it’s over because it’s barely even a kiss and yet it’s the best he’s ever had all the same.

He doesn’t sound happy, not yet, but it’s a better sound, a clearer one, closer to glee than to gloom and it’s enough.

It’s more than he ever asked for.


End file.
